Meeting for the First Time
by JayandNya4evr
Summary: People can be reborn. Some are not. Some take centuries to be reborn. It all is random, you could be lucky, and you couldn't. You hold faint memories of any past lives with you, and when these two meet again, they are in different points of views. Sad UsUk One-shot! Could this work as tragedy? I'd say so.


**Meeting For the First Time**

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People can be reborn. Some are not. Some take centuries to be reborn. It all is random, you could be lucky, and you couldn't. You hold faint memories of any past lives with you, and when these two meet again, they are in different points of views.

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**I should be working on other things, yet here this is. Your welcome. :)**

**Inspiration: For the First Time by The Script.**

**And this video: watch?v=aaKICMVZrC8 **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, that YouTube video, or For the First Time. All rights go to their owners.**

**Read and review! **

**EDIT 5/21/17: So I don't know why this took me soooo long, but thanks to a guest review _That One Guest _on April 16, 2015 pointed out the Salem witch trials came before the American Revolution and I couldn't believe I wrote it out of order! So ashamed! Ahhh! Well now here is the updated, historically accurate story. Thanks again for pointing that out! :)**

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His soul began his loops.

He was a young boy searching the woods for food in the era before England. A small cloak draped over his shoulders, he scouted for food.

The land was still mostly frozen over, and not much life was around.

Curling into a ball, he passed away at age 6.

…

Cold, he felt cold, but was in the body of his next life; a young boy, helper of the new priest. The country of England was barely forming.

A candle was dropped on his by one of the sinners among the church, burning him, which later they put him out to save him from pain.

…

The shaking of the ocean woke him from his sleep. That was right, he was on a ship. Being a pirate was hard, yet he was one of the best.

One day along shore, he discovered a young boy, and raised him as a cabin boy.

They shared a connection, a very strong on.

Yet, when the boy was killed in a raid, he couldn't live anymore, and let the enemy blow his ship and himself down.

…

He was a witch in Salem. Well, not a real one, he was only accused as one. He rode in a carriage, ropes around his ankles and wrists. A matching around his neck.

He was pulled to the stake, torches in the man's hand.

Tied to the pole, he dared not look to the crowd, not wanting the last thing to see on their putrid faces. Yet something pulled him to look.

There, in the crowd stood a teen boy, not much older than himself. His eyes, full of the deepest sadness he had ever seen. As the torch was thrown into the fire sticks at his feet, he watched the tears stream down the boy's face, the cheering of the crowd in the background.

Feeling such a strange connection, he too dried until he passed out of smoke, never letting out a breath again.

…

It was the American Revolution, and he stood at the foot of the king of England. Being put out to face off, this was said to be a final battle, tension high.

That's when he met the head of the American army. The male was familiar, too familiar, but he did not know where from.

Told to open fire, he charged forward, clashing guns with the other. The opponents went flying, while his own remained in his hands.

"Fire when ready!" the line of American troops shouted.

The last he remembered was the screams to stop before he was hit hard with the bullets. Collapsing, he saw the other in front, taking a few to himself, as they both fell down, dead.

So, that boy seemed to remember him from somewhere too.

...

It was the Industrial Revolution in England, and being a manager of a company was hard. Then a boy came in, asking for a job. Looking into the deep blue eyes of the teen, he felt so…content. Accepting, he let him work right away.

A fatal mistake trapped the two inside, late one night as they stayed to work. Rushing into the office the boy ran to him, the pools of blue staring to him, the last he saw before they were knocked out from the smoke and other toxins let from the pipes.

…

He tuned his guitar, the wind coming through the open window to his apartment. Looking at himself in the mirror, his blonde hair dyed black at the bottom and pin on one side, he was in the punk era of England.

Taking a class in college for music, he met an American, and they became somewhat friends. They had such a nonchalance feeling with one another, it was peaceful to just sit in silence.

One day, walking together, the American stopped the other, with a soft smile.

He only whispered two soft words, "Wanna replay?"

Then, a robbery from across the street, shot out to the crowd, hitting the American right through the head and into himself as well.

…

He was a transfer student from England coming to the Americas, he wouldn't say we was particularly excited to work here.

It was a bad time here anyway, New York was so crowded all the time, and he wondered how anyone got anything done.

He had some work to do in the glorious twin towers, so he headed up the elevator. Only one other man was in it, and he looked so familiar.

Hitting the button to go up, the other smiled, "Same floor?"

He looked to the lit up buttons. The 16th floor lit, "I suppose so."

"Haven't seen you around before. You work here?" he asked carrying the conversation.

"I'm usually a worker from home I'm just popping in to turn in some papers."

Before another could say a word, the lights flickered.

The elevator stopped, scarring both of them. The sound of screams came from outside was ear piercing. It was followed by the sound of a plane getting close and closer.

"Terrorists!" was the only thing they heard to know the situation.

The blue eyes man cursed under his breath, "Let's try again this time."

Then, before the other could say anything, they were killed instantly by the force of a plane barreling into the side of the building.

…

He walked down the street, late at night. Pulling the scarf over his nose, he watched his own breath rise into the air. A figure slowly followed behind.

Noticing the person, he picked up his pace, heading to the local gas station, it was somewhere public.

The man behind had begun a run to him, pushing him to the wall, gun to his head, "Give me all you have!"

"A hero will save you!" a loud voice bellowed from the shadows as a man with a ski mask on kicked the robber in the head.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked once the criminal was rightfully knocked out.

"A hero, duh!" was all he said. He stayed, however, staring at the other's face long and hard, before removing the mask, "Do I…look familiar?"

He blinked, taking in the other's features, "Well, you do. Have we met before?"

Suddenly, there was a loud gunshot at the criminal got back to his feet. Coughing up blood, he fell down feeling his abdomen with the cold blood trickling down his side.

"Fuck! Why couldn't I stop it this time! Please try this again!" the 'hero' cried as another gunshot rang out.

…

On the crowded subway station, he exited the people to reach the surface of the city. He was tired of city life.

Yawning, he went down to the coffee shop. He still needed his morning tea.

Leaving the shop, he walked down the street, careful not to spill his to-go cup.

That was when a blonde male spotted him out of the corner of his eyes. He sold magazines on the side street corner, telling his brother, the quiet and shy one, to cover for him, he dashed out to follow the other. He knew he'd find him again.

He rushed to catch up through the sea of the crowd, "So many time loops…"

The back of the other's neck just barely a few feet away. He wiped the tears forming in his eyes, 'Why do I remember all of them so clearly while no one else does?"

Being stopped by a blockage of people, he squeezed passed, barely saying his apologies before dashing to catch up again, "I can't lose him again, I refuse to lose him again!"

Reaching his arm out, his hand met the back of the other's jacket.

"Bloody hell!" he cursed stumbling backwards, "What was that for?! Watch where you are going!"

He stopped to examine the other's face. The messy blonde hair, the forest green eyes, the pale skin…he found him, and now he had to stay with him.

"Be careful, some people aren't as bad tempered as me, you know- hey, are you Ok? You're crying!" he asked patting the shoulder of the American.

He wrapped his arms around the shorter male, tears streaming down his face, "Don't you remember? I was your hero in a ski mask, your friend in the elevator on 9/11, your best friend during the punk days, your co-worker in the Industrial Revolution, the one who cried for you while I watched you burn at the stake, the one who tried to stop the bullets on the American Revolution field, and yes, I'm forever your cabin boy, the one you raised."

The green eyes fogged. His memories, were cloudy, but coming back, "You? But, how can you remember? I'm not completely on this yet."

"I…I don't know, but I can't lose you again! I've been waiting too long." He said pulling out to look at the other's face, "Please, stay by my side forever, I can't be alone again, I don't know if we will ever get any more time loops."

"Then we should start. Hello, my name is Arthur, Arthur Kirkland." He said holding out his hand.

Smiling, he did the same, "Alfred F. Jones."

There was a tire squeal, as a car came towards them. Fear stuck Alfred, he just couldn't…he…he…he would die for Arthur, just like when he was a mere cabin boy…

"Arthur, please, don't leave." He whispered, jumping in front of Arthur as the car came into contact.

At loss for words, Arthur kneeled next to the dying body of the other, "But now I'll lose you."

"Try…again?" Alfred asked, blood trickling from his mouth.

Grabbing his hand, he nodded, "Try again."

…

2015\. It was about mid-year, and the English sophomore exited the library walking home. He passed a boy, and stopped.

Collapsing to the ground, his head rushed with the past; cold, burning heat, the ocean sea spray, the gunpowder of muskets, the smoke, toxins of radiation, the sound of a gunshot with a friend, the darkness of an elevator as a plane crashed, the blood and darkness as a hero came to him, and now, he remembered that name, repeated from decades, "Alfred!"

The other turned his head, "Huh?"

He felt the tears trail down his face, "Alfred…I…I remember."

He ran to the other, hugging him.

"I um…I don't know you." He said, confusion clear in his voice.

Arthur pulled back, "You…don't remember?"

"Man, you do look familiar, but nope, I don't think we've met, sorry, maybe someone else?" he said starting to walk away.

"But, Alfred…"

"Look, I don't know how you know my name, but I gotta go, see ya, I guess."

But the next day, Arthur caught a nasty sickness, and he passed away the next week.

Once everyone left the grave, a ten approached.

Tears down his face, he fell to his knees, "Why…why do I remember you, but I have never met you? Why am I crying if I only met you in the hall? Why?"

…

Arthur Kirkland, his soul was old, yet he kept going. Again, he was reborn, and with fading memories. He held onto them, knowing someone was important and he had to remember for him, for Alfred.

Walking down the street, he looked up to the rainy, gray sky. Barely anyone was out in this weather, but Arthur liked it; it reminded him of his hometown in England. America was much different, he had to admit.

He'd probably never find the one he's looking for, probably die again, and forget everything, yes, that was most likely.

Locking up his comic store, Alfred F. Jones saw a figure pass by, a familiar face, yet he didn't remember where from.

"Weird…" he mumbled to himself turning the opposite direction to go home.

But his feet wouldn't move. He didn't know why, but he turned to see the figure become smaller as he walked further away. He felt like he should chase after, like he should stop that guy, like he had to talk to him, like he had to be something with him…yet he wouldn't move.

The man turned a corner, and out of site when Alfred's legs began to work. Rushing down the street, he passed the corner, and there stood the man, across the street while cars already were passing stopping Alfred.

"Maybe it's just my mind, I'm tired anyway." Alfred said, turning back around, heading home…

…and losing their last hope of ever being together again.

Arthur died the next morning of unknown causes, and Alfred died exactly at the same time.

These were their last rebirths, they were through.

Never to speak.

Never to touch.

Never to live together.

They were…gone…

In peace in heaven, with no more time loops.

…

Arthur sat on a cloud, wondering about his life. Then passed another boy behind him, Alfred.

He smiled, feeling the tears. Rushing over to Arthur, he clasped his arms around the other, "No more tries, right?"

Arthur smile patting Alfred's head, "No more."

"Hello, my name is Alfred F. Jones." He introduced, yet again.

"And I'm Arthur Kirkland, nice to meet you." Arthur replied.

And it was like meeting for the first time.

…

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**Yeah, some sadness to fill your heart. I listened to that song while writing this, so maybe listen to it while you read if you wish? Any feedback is much appreciated! :)**


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